Warmth
by Hopeakaarme
Summary: Baby-sitting turns into a nightmare when Voldemort attacks Remus's home to get little Harry. Remus's sacrifice is enough to save the boy, but some people don't take it easily. Like his lover.


Disclaimer: None of it is mine.

A/N: This one-shot is dedicated to the victims of the Asian catastrophe and their families.

I know, cold comfort, but it has to be said on my defence that my family decided not to buy fireworks for the New Year's Eve and instead give that money to help people over there. The little ones are a bit disappointed, but I think it's still the right thing to do.

Oh, character death(s). Voldemort never attacked that Halloween night. Instead, this takes place shortly after Christmas that year, and little Harry's visiting Remus's house while his parents are away...

* * *

Warmth

* * *

The living room of the little cottage in the middle of nothing seemed to be full of the presence of a tall man in a black robe. He was towering over a smaller form, a figure of a man in shabby brown robes, a wailing baby on his arms. 

The taller figure -- Lord Voldemort, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named -- reached out one skeletal hand in a demanding gesture. "Give the baby to me, half-breed, and I just might let you live a little longer."

"NO!" the addressed man shrieked, pressing the little boy a bit tighter against his chest. "Let him be -- take me instead! Please -- he's just a _baby_..."

"What he is and what he is not don't matter to me," snarled Voldemort. "I'm going to kill you, werewolf... and then I'm going to kill the brat also." Then he added, "To come to think better of it, I think I'll kill the brat first. It's easier that way, you see." He raised his wand, pointing it at the shrieking infant. "_Avada Kedarva_!"

"NO!" yelled Remus, spinning around so that his body got between the curse and the little child. Then the green jet of light hit him, and he opened his mouth in a scream that never had time to come out.

"Foolish werewolf," muttered the Dark Lord. "You only managed to buy him seconds more of time." Raising his wand once again, he yelled, "_Avada Kedarva_!" Again, a jet of light spurted out of his wand.

Then there was an explosion. Not a real explosion, but a surge of powerful magic, a wave of horrible warmth flowing over them. The ceiling above them simply blew up, letting the cold winter air whirl inside. The power of the magic shattered the very foundations of the small hut, making the house collapse all around them. However, not a single tile or board fell over the scene where mere seconds before had been the most powerful Dark Lord in ages, preparing to kill an innocent infant.

* * *

It was cold, and the wind was whirling over the frozen scene. A small flake of snow fell down to the little child's cheek, making him wail loudly. He crawled over the scattered ruins, trying to find some warmth in the middle of the horrifying scene. As his little hand slipped from the cold stone he'd been reaching for, he fell down to his diapered bum, crying out again. 

After long exploration the child found something familiar in the middle of all the mess. A man lay there on the ground, a man he knew and trusted and loved.

"Moonie," the boy mumbled quietly. "Moonie." When the man didn't wake up and pick him up, the boy frowned. "Moonie!" he demanded with a bit louder voice. "Mooni-E!"

But Moonie didn't wake up. He just lay there, in front of Harry, his eyes wide open and his mouth frozen open in an endless, silent scream. Tiny snowflakes were collecting on top of him, not melting.

Had he been older, Harry would have probably realized that something was wrong. However, he was only a year and a half old, not even that. Therefore, he decided that Moonie was sleeping. As the man didn't wake up and get him somewhere warm and light and comfortable, he settled to the next best option and crawled even nearer to the motionless man. With a content baby-sigh, he curled up in a tiny ball between Moonie's arm and his chest, tugging his head into the armpit. It was maybe cold and uncomfortable, but little Harry didn't care. He was hurt and tired and upset. If crying wasn't going to get him any help, he settled on the only other option his toddler mind supplied him with: If crying doesn't get you anywhere and there's nothing to eat or play with, sleep.

And so, sleep he did.

* * *

"Harry!" called out a horrified voice. "Remus! Harry! Where are you?" 

"Calm down, Lily," said James, who was currently fighting against panic himself. "We'll surely find them soon. They can't be anywhere far away. Remus has probably just hid Harry somewhere and they're now waiting for us to come to find them, I'm sure about that."

"I -- oh, Merlin." And then, he froze, staring at the sight in front of him.

There, in the middle of the ruins, lay his friend. His face partly covered by snow and his skin unnaturally pale, there was no doubt about what was Remus's condition. And next to the corpse of the werewolf, seemingly very comfortably snuggled up to his dead babysitter, slept Harry. Little, innocent Harry, who seemingly had no idea of how morbid his situation was.

"Oh, God..." Lily stumbled towards her dead friend and still living son over the ruins of Remus's little cottage. Lifting Harry's peacefully sleeping body into her arms, she started to sob, "Remus, you cannot be dead, Remus, do you hear me?" But Remus did not hear, nor did he reply.

Harry stirred a bit in his mother's warm, comforting arms. The bright green eyes popped open. "Mommy?" he asked quietly. As Lily immediately turned her attention to him, still sobbing and mumbling incoherently, Harry murmured, "Moonie zleep. Moonie cold, Hawwy cold. Hawwy zleep wiff Moonie." He pointed at the dead werewolf with one round baby finger. "Wake Moonie," he commanded.

"Oh, Harry," sighed Lily, trying in vain to dry her tears. "I cannot wake Moonie. Nobody can."

Just then James came to the place. "Dada!" Harry said happily. "Dada wake Moonie!"

"I'm afraid not, little guy," James said quietly. Kneeling down to the ground, he collected the werewolf's frail frame onto his arms, gently supporting the weight of his dead friend. "I'm afraid Moonie will sleep for a long, long time to come."

"Moonie zleep day-night?" asked Harry innocently with his baby talk.

"No, Harry," Lily said sadly. "Moonie will sleep forever, now."

* * *

The wind was cold and harsh as it flew over the quiet Wizarding cemetery on Hogwarts grounds. The people gathered there, however, did not pay any thought to it as they watched the coffin being lowered to the grave, snowflakes falling on top of it, hardly making any difference from the white wood. 

"Hawwy cold," muttered a tiny figure clad in thick winter robes in his mother's embrace. "Hawwy wann Moonie. Moonie make wawm." This brought him sad glances from the surrounding people; his parents, and his Godfather. Harry loved them all, true, but it had always been Remus who had casted warming spells on the little tot when he'd played outside with his "uncles". But now Remus wasn't there, and Harry was cold despite the charmed robes covering him.

A lonely figure stood some way from the others. Nobody dared to even glance towards him, knowing that their concern or compassion would not be appreciated, hardly even noticed, by this man. They were all aware of his presence, however, and that knowledge made them awkward.

At one point, however, the figure did step forward, standing for a while on the edge of the open grave. Then he raised his hand, which was clenched into a fist, and opened it, allowing the things he held in it to come to sight. They were rose petals. Their colour was the deepest red any of them had ever seen, yet it looked somehow _wrong_ on his pale hand.

Then, with one swift motion, he turned his hand around, letting the petals to fall down on top of the coffin. They were like tiny droplets of blood on the fresh, white snow.

After this the black-clad figure turned stiffly around, starting to walk away. He stopped some way away, however, and watched darkly as the others, relatives and friends, all honoured Remus's memory.

They all had known about Remus and Severus's relationship, all right. And, even though they hadn't all maybe liked it, they'd all accepted the Slytherin, because they had loved Remus, and Remus had loved him. However, now that Remus was gone, his calming presence and friendly words weren't there to get them away from having to actually say anything to the man, they were at a loss as of what to say.

They did try to approach him, however. After the ceremony was over, and everybody started to gather to go inside the castle, the Potters slowly walked towards him.

"Look, Snape, I'm really sorry," James said quietly. "We both know that I don't like you, but I think we both loved Remus very much, and he loved you more than anything. I can't even begin to imagine how painful this must be to you."

"He died like he wished to," Snape replied through clenched teeth, not looking him in the eye. "I just hope your son will be worth the sacrifice."

James was just about to say something biting about Voldemort being defeated along with Harry being saved, but he held his tongue at the look of Snape's face. There was such pain and despair on the Slytherin's usually so controlled face that he simply didn't have the heart to say anything that might upset the man any more.

"Why don't you come inside with us, Snape?" asked Lily quietly. "It's freezing out here. Come on now, everybody else is already inside, it's warm there."

"Thank you, but no," the Slytherin replied curtly, his gaze wandering to the distance. "I don't need that warmth." Turning around, he walked away a couple of steps. Then he added, just loudly enough for her to catch the almost whispered words, "I don't think I'll ever be warm again."

* * *

Snow was falling slowly from the frozen grey winter sky. A dark figure of a man lay on the ground, the person clearly not caring that the snow flakes were settling on top of him. 

"Remus," muttered the man to the harsh wind of the coldest winter in over a hundred years yet. "Remus, wait for me..." A couple of snowflakes were caught on his long, dark eyelashes, slowly melting, until they resembled tiny tears. Later they were frozen in the cold air.

That was how he was found the following day, long after life had escaped him. Snow had half hidden him, his midnight-black robes and hair as well as his pale skin, and it was only by luck that they could find him at all. Nothing could be done; he could not be saved anymore.

But from the smile that now graced the lips it had never touched before, they knew that wherever he was now, and whoever he was with, it was better than ever in his life.

Even if his body was frozen, his soul was in warmth.

* * *

A/N: Geez... I really don't know what possessed me to write this one... I first wrote the bit where Harry's crawling around the ruins, then the rest of the story were built from there.

Oh, and do not bother to review "Harry's too mature for his age" for he is NOT. He was not a newborn when he was left to Dursleys. I should know how little children behave -- I've got 12 younger siblings.


End file.
